


The Race

by PenelopeAbigail



Series: Whumptober 2020 [23]
Category: Spider-Man (Video Game 2018), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Day 23, Exhaustion, Gen, Sleep Deprivation, What's A Whumpee Gotta Do To Get Some Sleep Around Here?, Whump, Whumptober 2020, but for the most part its pretty lighthearted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:48:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27164089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenelopeAbigail/pseuds/PenelopeAbigail
Summary: Taskmaster challenges Spider-Man to a marathon. Peter spends his time preparing.Or:Peter trains for a marathon way too intensely and the results aren't great.
Series: Whumptober 2020 [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1955698
Kudos: 9
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	The Race

**Author's Note:**

> Day 23!!  
> So I really enjoyed writing this one!  
> This is set in Pete's high school days, but Taskmaster has already taken to stalking him. I know in the game, it starts up when Pete's 23, but to play into the I-must-train-as-hard-as-I-can trope I've got going on, Pete's in high school.  
> Another thing is that Harry knows Pete's secret. Just go with me on this one.  
> I had fun writing them as idiot teenage boys lol

Taskmaster was the worst, and Peter hated him.

He couldn’t just pick a fight like a normal bad guy, _no_ , he had to challenge him, taunt him, and play games.

Peter had taken to ignoring him, acting like Taskmaster didn’t exist, until Tasky threatened someone’s life. He was so tired of being watched and spied on, and he knew that Taskmaster wouldn’t do anything unless Peter took him up on a challenge. So he simply didn’t, just turned a blind eye on the boxes when he stumbled upon a new one.

Until Tasky _did_ threaten someone’s life. An innocent civilian. Snatched her off the street on her way home from work.

Peter didn’t even know her, but Taskmaster knew _him_ well enough that Spider-Man couldn’t just turn a blind eye to someone in danger.

He’d challenged him to a race, a marathon, a whole whopping 26 miles, and only gave Spider-Man one day to prepare.

Yeah, his heightened metabolism and senses and powers and spider-DNA all made him much more resilient than a typical human, but he’d never even practiced running that much! PE only made them run two miles, tops!

Yeah, he breezed through— _deliberately not the fastest, cause there was no better way to out yourself as a vigilante than effortlessly beating all the track students all the time_ —but that had only been two miles. Not Twenty-Six.

He only had 24 hours to prepare. The match was tomorrow, same time, same place, and no web-shooters or gadgets allowed.

He wasted an hour thinking he _had it in the bag_ , and then another hour freaking out because he was _absolutely going to lose_ , having never run a marathon before. What if he didn’t have the stamina, or what if he just wasn’t fast enough?

Harry calmed him down, placed his hands on Pete’s shoulders, and pulled his pacing to a stop.

“Pete, buddy, _calm down_.”

Peter closed his eyes, dropped his fidgeting hands to rest at his sides, and took a slow measured breath in.

“Okay, now let’s see what you can do!”

Pete opened his eyes, “What?”

Harry was heading towards the elevator, but Pete stood there, confused.

“We’re going to train you to run a marathon.”

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open, but still, Peter didn’t move.

“ _Train me_ —Harry, I have a _day_ — _less_ than that with the _dawdling_ I’ve been doing—“ He moved forwards, towards harry, gesturing outwards with his hands and arms.

Harry stood beneath the post, holding the doors open as Pete came closer, still jabbering.

“Besides, marathons take _years_ to train for, and even with my—“

Harry stepped forwards, ignoring the doors that slid closed behind him, and calmed his friend down with the hands-on-the-shoulders trick again, interrupting with a shake of his head and a friendly, nonchalant smile, “First, Pete, no, they don’t.”

Pete’s eyes held distress but remained locked onto Harry’s, “Second,” Harry dropped his hands and moved around to his side, nudging him from behind with an arm around his shoulders, “Isn’t Taskmaster just a silly, normal human? You’ll beat him easy!”

He pressed the button, and the doors opened immediately, the elevator having been already there.

Pete followed his subtle directions, “Um, _no_ ,” he shrugged Harry’s arm off, “He’s a weird freaky dude who can copy anything just by _seeing_ it! He’s not normal!”

Their descent began, and Harry responded, “Still, he’s limited by normal human speed and stamina, right? _You aren’t_.”

“I don’t know!” Peter shrugged dramatically, “What if he just _looks_ at my awesome speed and stamina and _copies_ it?”

There was a beat of silence. The floors ticked down.

Harry’s retort was, “Are you sure that’s possible, ‘cause, like, that’s not how muscles work…”

Pete had also calmed down, leaning against the side railing, thinking about it, “No clue, man, maybe he’s a mutant or something—” the elevator landed and the doors slid open, “—not like we’ve sat down for dinner and talked about it.”

Harry stepped out first, “You think he’ll be down for that, instead of his whole _I’m going to stalk you to learn about you_ thing? I mean, seems to me—” he stepped into a section of the revolving door and held his words until Pete came out behind him, “—that dinner would be way easier than stalking.”

They approached the sleek black limo waiting for them, whose driver opened the door as they stepped in, leaving their _Thank-you's_ as always— _even if someone is paid to be kind, they’re being kind, so you should be thankful_. _That was something Ben had taught them both_.

The door shut and Pete responded, “Dude, stop talking about dinner. You’re making me hungry.”

Harry rolled his eyes, fishing his phone from his pocket before he crushed it by accident, “Oh, you’re always hungry. That doesn’t concern me anymore. Besides, you brought it up.”

Pete just nodded _yeah, okay, checks out_ , and Tim, the driver called back, “Where to, sir?”

“The school, please, Tim. We’re going to run laps.”

Pete interjected before Tim could reply, but softly, on the down-low so if Tim overheard, he probably just assumed Pete was embarrassed of his running, “No, Harry, people might see. There are cameras there, now.”

Harry nodded, “Oh, right,” and added, “Well, where else then?”

They sat in silence for only a beat, Tim up front smiling, before Harry had an idea:

“I have an idea!”

Pete turned to him puzzled and curious, but Harry just spoke to Tim, “Tim, take us to the tennis courts by the waterfront, please.”

“Of course, Mr. Osborn.”

Pete kept his voice hushed, leaned over, and whispered, “What’s your idea? Why the courts?”

Harry leaned over, too, as if they were conspiring eleven years olds again, “I’ll tell ya when we get there. Got your—” and he glanced down at Pete’s feet, “— _shoes_ with you?”

That gleam in Harry’s eyes could only mean one thing: that he _wasn’t_ talking about Peter’s shoes.

Pete squinted as if he knew exactly what Harry was talking about and responded slowly in the same conspiratorial tone, “ _Yes.”_

 _No_ , he didn’t know what Harry was talking about, and he’d talk to him when they were in private since he’s keeping it on the DL.

He and Harry both sat back and waited in silence for their arrival.

 _Did he have his shoes on him?_ What kind of question _was_ that? Harry had pointedly then looked _right at_ his shoes, and still asked as if he meant something else— _oh!_

 _Did he have his_ running _shoes?_

The answer was still yes, he was currently wearing them. He ran in all his shoes—he was surprisingly light on his feet— _well, no, it wasn’t a surprise, there was an explanation, and it started with “Spider” and ended with “DNA”_.

He caught Harry’s attention and winked, “I got you! Yes, I do have my _shoes_ on me.” He nodded. He was smart.

Harry just looked confused, but satisfied, nodded, “Good.”

Because of Manhattan’s rush-hour traffic ( _Pete had met Taskmaster right after school; he hadn’t cut! Promise!_ ), it took them a solid thirty-seven minutes to get to the courts—in which time, Pete and Harry challenged each other to Among Us which resulted in Harry being voted out when Peter was the one with the secret identity.

“Dude, that was so wrong,” Harry shook his head at Pete as the car came to a stop.

They opened the door and slid out while Pete responded, “My username was _Spider-Man_ , I basically _told_ them I had a secret.”

Just before Harry closed the door, he ducked back in and addressed Tim, “We’ll be out pretty late, Tim. Don’t know when we’ll be home. Let my dad know not to worry, won’t you?”

“Of course, Mr. Osborn. Call when you’re ready for pickup.”

“Thanks, Tim,” He closed the door and turned around, addressed Pete this time, “Okay, go ahead and get ready. Nobody will notice you if you change behind…” He looked around for any concealed spot for Pete to change behind, but Pete was confused.

He furrowed his brows and asked, “I _am_ ready. What are we going to do, play _tennis_?” It was basically a scoff because come on, how was tennis going to prepare him for a marathon?

Harry turned back to him, “What? _No,_ put your _shoes—“_ and boy did Harry emphasize that word—“on. Didn’t you—“

Was Harry a freaking idiot or something? Peter was _wearing_ his shoes!

He looked at him as such, dumbfounded, “I’m _wearing_ my shoes, Harry!”

Harry just facepalmed, and grunted, “Not your actual shoes, you dumbass, your _suit_ , your Spider-Man suit!”

His Spidey-Suit? What— _of course. It all made perfect sense now. Harry had been talking about his suit and hadn’t wanted to say it in front of Tim. Peter really was a dumbass._

“Dammit!” He cursed. He, of course, always had his suit on him, discreetly hiding beneath his other clothes, so why had Harry thought otherwise? Harry had tossed Pete the hoodie to cover his suit with only two hours ago!

“What? You had it earlier!”

“I didn’t bring it!” Except, yes, he had. What was Harry’s plan though? For people to take pics and videos of Spider-Man running around in circles for two hours?

Harry struggled for words, “W- _w-whyyyyyy?_ ”

Oh, man, his face was hilarious, all wide-eyed and at a loss for words. Can’t believe he thought Pete was so stupid.

Pete just lightly slapped his arm and smiled, laughing, “You actually do think I’m stupid!”

Harry didn’t move, processing, like the buffering symbol on a YouTube video.

Pete added, “I always have it under my clothes. You _saw_ it.“

Harry composed himself after that second of stunned silence and just shook his head, laughed a bit, too, “Can’t believe my best friend is a total idiot.”

“Hey! _You’re_ the one who thought Spider-Man would leave his suit _in your house_.”

Harry’s eyebrows raised with _good point_ enunciations, and he changed the subject, “Well, go change. We’re gonna finally see how fast you can go, and we can’t have random people seeing some kid running at seventy miles an hour.”

Peter liked the sound of that, but scoffed, “ _Seventy_? Oh, baby, you’re about to be impressed.”

He smirked and immediately eyed the rooftop across the street, shaking his head. Were all teenagers like this, or were he and Harry exceptionally odd?

Changing on rooftops was his specialty, as was webbing his backpacks in place so they weren’t stolen. He’d have to remember to come back for this one—speaking of, he couldn’t remember where he left his green backpack two weeks ago…

Eh, it’d turn up somewhere.

He landed on the light pole above Harry’s head, noticing how the sun was already starting to set—good, he wouldn’t be seen training so easily.

Harry noticed, glanced up at him, and Pete dropped down beside him.

“All right,” Harry started, “I’m thinking first, we’ll see how fast you can really run.”

They started making their way to the back corner, where they could by the water and out of earshot. People were noticing that Spider-Man was out and about and they were getting excited, so it was a good idea to step away from the busy street.

Typing into his phone, Harry remarked, “Okay, looks like Pier 51 down there—” and he pointed north, “—is just at a mile away. So you run there and back as fast as you possibly can, and I’ll time you.”

He switched apps and readied himself.

Pete nodded, “Sounds good. Running two miles for PE is a cakewalk. Expect me back, in like ten seconds!” He rubbed his hands and crouched into a runner’s stance.

Harry added suspense, “On one. Three… Two… One!”

But Peter was still there, stood up straight. “Shouldn’t I stretch first, you know, make sure I’m nimble and all,” he said while stretching.

Harry watched in silence was Pete went through the practiced stretches that they learned in school, making sure his calves were ready to go before turning back around.

Harry cocked an eyebrow, “Ready?”

Pete nodded, crouched again.

“Three. Two… One!”

He started the timer and looked up, watched as Pete took off and rounded the corner. He wasn’t as fast as the Flash, but that’s why they were training.

He was back, and Harry stopped the timer as soon as Pete slapped his outstretched hand.

Pete was barely breathing hard, hadn’t even broken a sweat.

122 seconds.

Right at 60 miles per hour.

“Dude.” Harry looked up, “A hundred twenty-two seconds.”

The Spider-Man mask’s eyes widened comically and Pete gasped, “No!”

Harry sported a grin of surprise, couldn’t believe that his best friend just ran 60 miles per hour! That was as faster as a car on the highway!

But Pete continued his lament, “I’m a failure!” He rubbed his hands over his face, and made some weird sound, like a mix between wailing and growling.

Drama queen.

“Okay,” Pete said, snapping out of it, “Let’s go again. I see fewer people in my way this time.”

Harry nodded, saved and cleared the stopwatch, and started the countdown again, “Three, two, one!”

100 seconds. 72 miles per hour.

Pete was breathing only slightly hard this time, asked, “Well?”

Harry just smiled and held his phone out. Pete could do the math in his head fast enough, and reacted, “That’s more like it!”

“That’s attempt number _two_. Can you beat it with a third?” Harry challenged.

“Bring it,” Pete accepted.

Attempt number three was 94 seconds. 76.6 miles per hour.

But Pete was pretty winded this time, needed to stop and catch his breath.

Harry was sure that if they put him on an exercise routine to train his limits, he’d improve and get to running in the _hundreds_ one day.

“Seventy-six point six,” Harry informed him.

Pete just responded, “Am I out of shape, or is this normal?”

Ha! He just ran two miles in ninety-four seconds! How could he possibly be out of shape?

But Harry couldn’t let that go to his head, “Oh, definitely out of shape—look at you! Only five minutes in, and you’re dying.”

“Ha!” Peter mocked, stood up straight, still monitoring his breathing, “What’s next on the training agenda?”

“Well,” and Harry opened Google Maps again, needing to figure what was 26 miles away, “Now, you’re going to run a marathon.”

“Ugh,” Pete groaned, “Ain’t no way I’m keeping my speed at seventy, so forget about it!”

Harry chuckled, “How about you go slow, say thirty miles per hour. That’ll take you less than an hour and is already far faster than Taskmaster, so—” (Peter interjected here with “…Presumably…”) “—if you can keep that slow and steady pace, then you’ll beat him for sure, and we can sleep tonight instead of pulling a trademark _Spider-Man is troubled, broody, and angsty_ all-nighter you’re so prone to.”

Didn’t sound like that daunting of a feat at all. Twenty-six miles at thirty miles per hour? He could do it— _and he only felt such confidence because of the last five minutes. He couldn’t believe he was so fast! Like, he knew he was fast and agile, able to dodge bullets in the nick of time, but whoo boy was seventy miles an hour a shock to him._

“Looks like May’s house in Queens is about thirteen miles away, so you can just run there and back again.”

Pete nodded, sucked in a fresh breath of air, closed his eyes, and let the air out slowly.

He was ready, commented, “Good thing I’m faster than the traffic; otherwise, I’ll get run over on the bridge.”

“Well,” Harry nodded, “At least you wouldn’t have to see yourself lose to Taskmaster tomorrow.”

“Shut up! I’m not gonna lose!”

“Not with that attitude!”

Pete just shook his head and readied himself for this next bout.

Harry counted down, “Three. Two. One!”

And he was off— _way too quickly_.

Did Peter even know how to regulate his speed? Perhaps he should get a speedometer…

Harry climbed atop the railing to sit and wait. If Peter were to regulate his speed at thirty, then he’d be back in about… fifty-two minutes. If he were to go faster, he’d be back faster.

They just needed to test his stamina. He’d never run so far in one sprint before.

Harry waited.

And waited.

A half-hour went by before Harry decided to turn on Netflix to kill time.

After one episode of Community was over, he checked the stopwatch: 58 minutes. Pete should be back any minute now.

But he waited some more and decided to turn on another episode.

He was half-way through when Pete returned, out of breath and exhausted.

73 minutes. Wow, what a record-breaker. Too bad Pete didn’t qualify.

 _At only seventeen, Spider-Man becomes the youngest man to ever break record for the fastest Marathon._ No, no, that sounded stupid. How about _Spider-Man, seventeen, breaks world record for fastest marathon ran._ Well, that also sounded bad—

Peter collapsed to the wooden walkway ungracefully. He must be super exhausted, neither of them had eaten dinner, and Peter’s the one doing all the running and working out. Harry’d only been sitting on the sidelines and was already super hungry. Pete must be feeling worse.

But with all the running this training required, if Pete were to eat anything, he’d likely just throw it up.

Pete just lay there, face down on the ground, unmoving, and groaned, “I’m so out of shape! I’m gonna loooooose…”

“It’s only—” Harry checked the time, “—seven-thirty. We’ve still got plenty of time for more practice.”

Pete just groaned some more. Harry continued his episode. It’d probably be better for Pete to wait till morning to eat. A little fasting wouldn’t hurt.

After that ten minute break, the sky was dark as night and there were fewer people on the streets, so Pete took Google Maps with him as he ran to try to regulate his speed to 30. Starting off too fast would wear him down quickly, so he had to be careful. He had to get used to what thirty felt like because he wouldn’t have access to a speedometer tomorrow.

His next marathon was better, 66 minutes (and 66 seconds, but that was too many sixes and a bit creepy), and Harry thought, surely, Taskmaster couldn’t run faster than Peter. There was no way.

But Peter wasn’t convinced, so after grabbing a bottle of water from the CVS around the block (he listened to Harry about the food thing, not at all tolerating the idea of throwing up because of exercise) and taking a much needed, much-deserved half-hour break (watching another episode of Community with Harry), he was off again.

It was 10:30 when he returned, his time being 64 minutes. Barely better than last time.

Another bottle of water, a bathroom stop, and only a twenty-minute break, he was off again.

Harry was so, so tired, but the poor girl needed Spider-Man to win that race, and Spider-Man needed him to help train, so he had to stay awake to be there for Peter. He was young, he could pull all-nighters whenever he wanted.

It was midnight this time when Pete returned, time being 67 minutes.

Peter needed a break, and both were having trouble keeping their eyes open, so they took a nap, just a short one. Harry set a timer on his phone to wake them in an hour.

They fell asleep on the ground, both leaning against the railing of the pier.

They awoke a half-hour later when Peter’s phone rang, startling them into the land of the living.

It was May, and Peter groaned. He forgot to text her…

“Oh, hey, May.”

“Peter? Are you okay?” Oh man, she was worried. Understandable, but Peter hated making her worry. He always felt guilty about it.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good, just sleeping over at Harry’s. I’m sorry, I forgot to call.”

She was wary, “You don’t sound okay. Did I wake you?”

“Yeah,” He nodded, though she couldn’t see it, “But it’s okay. We fell asleep studying for our exam tomorrow.”

“Honey, tomorrow’s Saturday.”

“Oh? Then Monday’s exam.”

He could see her shaking her head at him, and he smiled.

“Okay, get yourself to bed. I’m making lasagna for dinner tomorrow, so don’t be late.”

Lasagna? His stomach gurgled. God, he was hungry.

“That sounds amazing! I definitely won’t.”

“I love you, Peter.”

“Thanks, May. Love you too.”

He really wanted to go back to sleep, even if the pier was super uncomfortable, but Harry was already standing up and rubbing his eyes.

Pete whined, “I don’t want to…”

“It’s up to you, but right now,” Harry checked the time on his phone, “You only have fifteen hours until the race.”

Pete nodded, knowing how right Harry was, knowing that he wasn’t ready yet.

Reluctantly, but with a great amount of self-control, he pushed himself up and stretched again.

To warm back up— _why did he even need to warm up, the break was only thirty minutes?_ —he ran miles again, pushing himself.

103 seconds again.

And then 91.

And then 88.

It was just after 1 in the morning and Harry was feeling exceptionally tired, and he knew this was underhanded, but he really wanted Pete to run the marathon again so he could go back to sleep, if just for a few minutes.

“Okay, marathon time. Ready?”

Pete got in position with a groan and took off on Harry’s mark.

Pete hadn’t been gone shorter than an hour so far, so Harry set a timer for 55 minutes and laid back down, falling asleep instantly.

True enough, his timer woke him before Pete was back, and he sat up to wait.

He should have brought his backpack so he could be studying or working on homework or something, anything to keep his mind occupied and eyes open.

He was nodding off when Pete returned, pressing _stop_ himself.

70 minutes. Could be better.

Time for round two.

Pete took off and Harry went to sleep again, timer set to another 55 minutes.

Again, he woke before Pete was back, but he didn’t have to wait as long.

62 minutes.

It was almost 3:30 and neither Harry nor Peter had ever felt more tired in his life, and in Pete’s case, that was saying something.

One more, they decided. One more and then they would go to bed, for real.

Harry started his timer again and woke before Pete returned, but this time, Pete was up in the eighty-minute range, and Harry just couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore.

It was morning when Pete shook him awake, his suit torn and a bit beat up.

“Oh my God, Pete! What happened?”

Harry checked the timer: 192 minutes. That was way worse. It was after 6 AM.

“Where have you been?”

Pete maneuvered his legs to sit, crosslegged, and hung his head, shaking it, “Was on my way back when I saw this big group of guys trying to—” he stuttered, “—to _hurt_ these women. I stopped them, took the women to the hospital.”

Pete yawned, body visibly deflated. Harry had been getting short bouts of sleep, but Pete hadn’t. He must be so exhausted.

Harry offered, “I’ll call Tim. We can go sleep—“

Pete shook his head in disagreement, cut harry off, “No, I didn’t patrol last night. People could be needing help. I need to make sure the city isn’t suffering first.”

Harry looked concerned, and rightfully so, “Pete, man, it’s almost seven. You haven’t slept any, and you haven’t—“

Harry stopped. Pete just shook his head, “I’ll grab nuggets for fuel, but I need to help people, Harry. I _need_ to.”

Harry didn’t have the crippling weight on his shoulders that Pete carried, but he sorta understood anyway.

He said, “Well, I’m still calling Tim. I’m not walking home.” And he smiled.

He couldn’t see it under the mask, but Harry was pretty sure Pete smiled, too.

Pete smacked harry’s bicep in reassurance, said, “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I’m super, remember?”

Harry just responded tiredly, “I’ll see you at 4, then. Don’t be late!”

Pete shook his head again, “Why would I be late to my own game?”

Harry just narrowed his eyes and looked at Pete seriously, “Pete, you’re always late, and if you’re late this time, that girl might get hurt.”

Pete sobered and stood up, “You’re right. I won’t be late.”

Harry also stood, “No, you won’t, ‘cause I’ll call you at 3:30 to remind you, and then again at 3:45, and then again at 3:50 and if you’re not there by 3:55, I’ll call you again.”

Pete just shot a web-line towards the buildings to swing away, calling back, “Love you, too, sweetheart!”

Harry sat back down and called Tim, who, thankfully, didn’t ask any questions.

When three-fifty came around, Harry was asleep at his desk, only waking when his phone rang, showing MJ as the caller.

“Hey, MJ, what’s up?”

She was excited and a little exasperated, “Harry! Where are you? You and Pete are going to miss the race!”

 _What?_ He’d fallen asleep! What time was it?

3:52.

_3:52!_

“Oh, no! I’m gonna miss it!”

“Hurry up and get over here!”

“On my way now!”

And he was, still dressed in yesterday’s clothes, shoes still on, and everything. He rushed out the door, already calling Tim as the elevator opened.

The race had already started by the time Harry found MJ, and Harry thanked God that Pete had remembered on his own to not be late. Guilt would have consumed Harry had Spider-Man’s tardiness caused that girl’s death.

The race was over faster than any of the others, and Harry leaped for joy as he saw Spider-Man crossing the finish line with Taskmaster nowhere in sight. He was panting hard, hands on his knees, and visibly shaking.

A voice rang out amongst the crowd from who-knows-where, “Fifty-five minutes and twenty-seven seconds. Well done, Spider-Man. The girl is safe with her family again. You have impressed me.”

Spider-Man stood up straight and yelled back, “Come and face me, Tasky! Or are you too scared I’ll beat you again?” He appeared to be searching the rooftops, listening for the voice, but nothing else came.

He shot a web up and zipped to the closest rooftop, escaping the crowd, and collapsing as soon as he landed, leaning back against the barrier.

 _God_ , he felt awful, like he was literally on the cusp of dying.

His muscles hurt and ached, his head was swimming, his stomach rolling. His energy levels had plummeted hours ago, even before the race.

He needed some water, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, but he was so tired, didn’t want to move at all.

His phone was ringing, though, and despite his ever-increasing desire to just close his eyes and sleep, he answered it.

It was Harry, “Dude, where are you?” And in the background, Pete could hear MJ, _Is he in the crowd?_

“I’m on the roof,” and he coughed, dry and harsh.

There was a slight pause before Harry spoke, showing his concern, “Are you okay?” _What? Is he sick?_

“Yeah, ‘m not feeling too great, tell’r I’m sick.”

Harry was muffled this time, but Pete could still him perfectly, “Nah, he’s not feeling good,” and then he was clear again, “Did you eat lunch?”

 _Did he eat lunch?_ No, of course not. If he ate anything, he’d just throw it up, so he avoided food.

“Nah, didn’t wanna puke.”

Hesitation again, “Breakfast?”

“Nuh-uh.”

Harry sighed, then he was muffled again, “Imma go check on’im,” and then he was clear, “I’ll bring ya some soup, buddy, don’t go anywhere.”

“Def won’t,” he replied, “Think I’ll sleep now.”

And he hung up, closed his eyes, and drifted off as he waited.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll admit, I didn't proofread this one...  
> If there are major typos or anything, leave a note in the comments, and I'll get to it.


End file.
